


Forbidden Healing

by RuckyStarnes (GracieForeth)



Series: Canon/Non-Canon ships [9]
Category: Marvel 616, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-31
Updated: 2019-05-31
Packaged: 2020-03-30 19:50:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,178
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19034473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GracieForeth/pseuds/RuckyStarnes
Summary: Set in an dystopian world.Wanda’s compassion brought in a battered man after he was beaten, not knowing who or what he was.





	Forbidden Healing

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: blood, some violence, witchcraft, shifting, and swearing

Wanda was in the kitchen, going through her herbs when a shout and a sickening crack before a man’s gurgled scream was enough to stop her in the middle of preening her dill. The sounds were close, practically on the other side of the wall, but she didn’t dare open her door to investigate any further. She heard more words, muffed by the bricks and wood of her house, but not enough to drown out the sound of agony. Wanda set down the wooden spoon before moving gingerly to the wall where the commotion was strongest, pressing her ear up to cold wood and tried to listen. Threatening words laced their way through the barriers and a guttural groan made Wanda’s blood run cold. Retreating footsteps had her heart skipping beats as she wondered what to do; she usually kept to herself in this world, but her curiosity and the healer in her had her out of the backdoor to find if anyone was still in the small alleyway by her home, barely wide enough for anyone to venture down. She stopped, a large figure was half sitting, half laying on the ground. By the way of shape and the way words and sounds were, she knew it was a man, and he was badly hurt.

“Kefovať,” she swore as she rushed towards him, eyes roaming his form to see where he was hurt. He was barely awake, but he was breathing and that’s what mattered.

“Can you stand, sir?” Her voice was thick, accent blurring words as she rushed to speak, eager to know if she could move him.

A small nod was her answer and she offered her arm for him to use along with her home. He towered over her small, lithe frame but she was strong enough to help him into her home and up the stairs to the guest room where patrons would stay if needed. Wringing her hands, she hesitated to assess him. It was the first time she could really see him outside of dark lines and dim lighting.

He was handsome in a rugged way. Brown hair, wet from the rain and sweat (possibly even blood), hung to his jaw, strong and sharp. Piercing blue eyes were partially hidden behind his hair, the strands in front just grazing the top of his lips. Now that he was in the light she could see was more than just fit. The man was muscular, his arms straining against the gray henley he wore and his jeans formed to his thighs.

“Could you, please sir, let me see?” she asked almost shyly as she motioned to the large cut that was across his abdomen.

“Bucky,” he grimaced, his hand going to his torso, pulling it away with blood covering it. “I guess…you can,” he breathed, sitting down on the bed.

“I need your shirt off,” Wanda instructed, still timid. Most of her patrons were elderly, ones that were willing to go to a rogue witch when in desperate times. He didn’t argue and removed the shirt as gingerly as he could, the gash was actually four slightly parallel to each other, making her face scrunch up with through. “Was it a bear?” she asked hesitantly, taking a chance that Bucky was a human. She was already rogue in her home country for doing the same thing: exposing humans to her world.

“Fox and cat,” he groaned, clutching his stomach. Wanda set off to find what she needed, handing him a pair of sweatpants that seemed to be the right size and a towel to press to the injury.

“You’re a…shifter as well? Or are you a spellmen?”

His blue eyes narrowed at her before she turned away to head to the armoire to retrieve the herbs and salves she needed. He was one or the other as humans could never explain how a person could inflict injuries like these, and this mad her work easier, but if he was shifter… Wanda shook her head and set the bottles down before going to the bathroom next door, coming back with a bowl of hot water. She worked as she waited for his answer, noting that he didn’t answer right away. She added witch hazel and bergamont to the water, whispering words in her native tongue while holding her hands above the water.

“Shifter,” Bucky finally answered when she turned towards him. He was now in the sweats holding the dark towel to his abdomen. It was moments like this that Wanda was glad she had opted for the darker color versus the traditional white and yellow of typical hearth witch.

Wanda nodded her acknowledgment. “I need to know what you are. Specifically. Some herbs can be deadly to you, but knowing what shifter that could have scratched you helps too.” She was in work mode now as she pulled her long auburn hair up into a messy bun and grabbed the apron hanging on the wall. “Please, lie down and keep your arms at your sides. I don’t want you to be pulling the skin more than it needs to.”

“You’re a spellmen.”

“Witch,” she specified as she dipped a dark cloth into the water, squeezed it, and brought it over to his skin, removing the towel to apply the warmth. “Hearth witch actually.”

“You shouldn’t be —”

“Helping you? Yeah, I am aware of that podvrhnuté.”

“Podnotede?”

“It’s what we call shifters back in my homeland,” she whispered, her brow furrowed as she tried to focus on his wound, which was proving to be hard as her eyes kept traveling over the lines where his muscles met each other.

“Won’t you get in trouble for helping me?”

“Only if you tell.” She looked up at him, fear in her eyes that actually would. Or worse when she healed him.

“I won’t,” Bucky replied softly, his eyes closed as he tried not to flinch to the solution to his skin. “Is it suppose to burn?”

Wanda snapped her eyes back to the cloth she was holding, pulling it back slightly and saw that the four cuts were not more inflamed than before and turning an awful green.

“What kind of shifter are you?” she asked, trying to keep the panic out of her voice. “I grabbed the ingredients that are neutral for all shifters and spellmen.” She removed the cloth and grabbed a new towel to press to his wound, placing his large hand over it before she raced to the bathroom, returning with a white cloth. She placed it on the wound before muttering words. She looked at him for his answer.

“Mother was a wolf,” he hissed as the heat penetrated his skin, pulling the ailment. “Father was…”

“Now is not the time to hold back if you are a kríženec wolf,” she hissed as her hands shook while she looked at the herbs she had brought over.

“Did you just call me something bad?”

“Doesn’t matter. What are you?”

She could hear the swallow he made before he hissed again.

“Bucky, I cannot help you unless I know your parentage. I don’t want to kill you. I heal. Killing would kill me.”

“Ma said he was a spindrel,” he groused out.

“Spindrel? Do riti!” Wanda flew to her stash looking for what she need, but it wasn’t there. “I need to go and get some dračí krv. Here, take some of this. It will help ease the pain and slow your heart rate until I get back.” Bucky gave her a dubious look as he took the vial, sniffing the contents. “It’s just chamomile tea. I will put some salve on your wound to ease the comfort, but I need to get the stuff that will ease what I have done to you.” She waited for him to swallow the contents before she ran down the stairs.

Dreary clouds painted the sky, making the air buzz with electricity as cold rain fell, making the city practically wearisome for anyone to venture out in. Lightning flashed, causing Wanda to snap her head up as she buttoned her coat, catching her off guard. She hated leaving her home, fearing for her life most times as she navigated the streets of the packed city, but she needed the resin and the man upstairs couldn’t wait for it much longer.

The streets were packed considering how horrible the weather was. The apothecary was only a few blocks away and she knew she would be at least thirty minutes away from him as long as they had what she needed. If not, well, she wouldn’t be a hearth witch anymore. People brushed against her, sending waves of fear through her never too sure if the person was a stranger or someone from her past. The building came in sight at last and she rushed inside, pushing her hood back only a little so she could see where she needed to go. An old man sat behind the counter, glasses extremely thick and his skin looked like it was both leather and paper thin.

“G’deve,” he said cheerfully, his voice rasped and creaked as if he never spoke before. Wanda nodded to the gentleman and walked slowly over to him, the nerves never ending. “What cannai get ye today lass?”

“I’m looking for dracaena resin,” she managed out in almost the perfect accent of the native townspeople. It wasn’t the first time she was in here, but when came to this country she tried her hardest to speak like everyone else, to blend in, even though the keeper of this particular apothecary was clearly from a different country as well, one Wanda was not sure of.

“Oh? A pre-y youn’ lass lookin’ fer ye mannah to takah care of ye?” he chuckled as he slid off his stool, nose barely grazing the counter. Wanda eyed him, never seeing this man leave his stool ever when she came in. “Yah know tee resin is used fer lurve.”

“Yes, if it is burned, kind sir,” Wanda blushed, her mind wandering to the dark haired man in her home, lying half naked on the patient bed. “My patron is allergic to bergamot.”

The man nodded and went to the tall shelf next to the counter and pulled out a small step stool to climb, pulling a dusty box out from behind a few bottles and made his way back towards her, setting it next to his register.

“Thata be one oh six an’ thirty eigh’,” he smiled, his crooked finger hitting the stiff buttons on the machine, the gears grinding at a pitch that made Wanda wince. “Price ye hafta pay for dragon blood.”

Wanda dug through her wallet and found the money, handing him two fifty notes and a twenty. She knew the man would cheat her out of her change, he always had and she always blessed him good fortune to find him. This time was no different, handing her back only two notes and a few cents.

“Thank you,” she smiled softly, “have a blessed day.” She grabbed the box and walked out, hustling to her house. She swore she sensed another spellman around, making her pull her hood up and duck behind a dumpster and switching to the long way back, hoping the man was still in okay shape.

****

Bucky remained still in the dimly lit room, the pain in his abdomen was borderline excruciating. The only thing that kept him from passing out was the image of the witch with sienna hair and emerald eyes. His mother always cautioned him about spellmen, saying they were like the dragonfolk: they will help you but will betray you when their own kind is at stake. But Bucky didn’t get that vibe from the petite woman. Judging from her accent, he gathered she was from across the ocean, and she did state she was a hearth witch, one of the few spellmen that will help anyone that is willing to pay. He made a mental note to make sure he got her what she was owed, as long as he didn’t die.

The door slammed closed downstairs startling him, waiting for the authorities to come up the stairs but instead it was the pretty, young witch instead. What was her name again? Did she even tell him? His head was swimming now as he couldn’t keep the pain at bay with willpower. He let out a groan that probably made her think that he was dying because she rushed to his side, coat still on, as her hands struggled to open the box she held. She was at the basin by the bed, fingers shaking as she readied the remedy he could assume to stop the pain.

“I am so sorry sir,” she rushed out, dumping the contents into a small glass bowl he didn’t see before and added what looked like tea. “I never had to treat anyone with spindrel blood before, and I really should have asked. My babka would be yelling at me, but she is probably working her way here to haunt me.” She turned towards him, looking at the towel that was on his stomach, fear washing over her as she noticed it was starting to be more red. “Anyway,” she kept going, moving to grab a new towel to dip into the new concoction she made, removed the one he was holding, and held the new one to the wound, “spindrels are deathly allergic to bergamot, that’s why this feels like I stabbed you with a fired iron.”

“S’not so bad,” he managed out, hoping he didn’t sound as weak as he thought he was. “Been worse.” He closed his eyes as relief slowly washed through his veins as the new potion started to work.

“I can see that,” she whispered, and at her words he knew she finally noticed all the other scars he had, now that she didn’t have to concern herself over his wounds because his relief was apparent. “Were you…”

“I fended for myself,” he interrupted her, hoping to ease her curiosity, but it didn’t.

“These are hunter marks,” she gasped, her fingers tracing a line of scars along his left arm, “you were hunted.” The way she stated the fact made Bucky open his eyes and look at her with intensity. “In my country, wolves and bears are hunted for sport. Not to kill, no. That would be a waste in their eyes. These horrible humans seem to get more pleasure from torturing. Marking with their own brand.”

He could hear the hurt in her voice, unsure why a spellmen was taking pity on him, especially since she could have left him outside to die.

“This barbaric ‘tradition’ was something done every week. My mother treated man bears and few wolves. Ghastly cuts and burns. Shifters heal fast, but the act has to be torturous.” She finally looked away from the line of scars to look at his wound under the cloth, her shoulders finally falling in a relaxing stance apparently pleased with that it looked like it should now. “Hold this here. I’m going to get some dressings and make a salve, then you can get home.”

“Home?” Bucky said under his breath. Home was a word he hadn’t known since he was twelve, when hunters killed his mother to get to him. He was the best sport for them. Sure he had the speed and agility of his mother’s wolf, but the spindrel in him was deadly, and at a young age, it was easy for Bucky to feel cornered or threatened. Now it wasn’t easy for anyone to bring that side out of him, a challenge that other shifters were willing to accept. No one fought a spindrel and lived.

“I haven’t been hunted in a long time,” he whispered. He didn’t know if he said that to ease her mind or to remind him. “I’m not sure if you are familiar with laws here, but if a shifter is arrested we have to state our heritage for ‘safety’ reasons. The first time I owned my paternal side, I was forced into a lab for months, subjected to tests and…you don’t need to hear it.”

The witch remained silent as she gathered the things she needed before sitting next to him again. “I am a stranger,” she nodded, “I haven’t earned your trust to get your life story. Humans are just…”

“Intolerable?”

“Despicable,” she laughed. Oh god, it sounded how faeries sang: light and beautiful. “Besides, when you’re a spellmen, people come to you when they need something, but you’re the first one they blame for something going wrong. Even if you weren’t even around for it.”

“Is that why you moved here?” Bucky noticed the hesitation in her hands, even if it was just slight. “You’re accent is…European?”

The woman nodded and went back to tending to him, never meeting his eyes.

“The way you say that humans are despicable makes me wonder if you…”

“Yes,” she interrupted him, “I am European. Slovak actually. I’m what humans call a gypsy, but I’m not. I’m a witch, and last time I knew, gypsies don’t do spells nor are they spellmens.” She licked her lips before she readied a needle with thread, dipping the sharp end into the mixture she had made. “I apologize for almost killing you when I was trying to save you…Bucky. I never tended to a spindrel before, never met one to be honest.”

“Most haven’t,” he replied, eyes closing. “I didn’t catch your name.”

“Never offered it to you,” she huffed, making Bucky frown as he was afraid he annoyed her. “It’s Wanda.”

“That’s a pretty name,” he breathed a sigh of relief.

“Now hold still so I can stitch you before patching. Then I can see if you should stay here for a bit.”

“Here?”

“Yes, you seem to not have a home. I cannot let you out of here knowing you aren’t going to take care of yourself after leaving. Sure the dracaena will help ward off infections, but this wound could open if you get into another tussle.”

“You make it seem like I like getting beat up,” he groaned. He could feel her small hand on his abdomen, making him tense under her touch only slightly until he could feel the keenness of the needle pushed into his skin; he sucked in a sharp breath as he felt the thread pull through.

“Take slow breaths. Tell me about yourself. It’ll take your mind off the unpleasantness.”

“I thought there were things to numb the pain,” he growled, fixating his gaze on her. Wanda flinched at him, making him realize that his eyes must have changed from his usual umber brown to crystal blue.

“I already applied it,” she whispered, her voice shaky as were her hands now. He placed one over the hand that didn’t hold the needle and gave her a reassuring smile.

“I apologize.” He tried to make sure his voice was soft and light, swallowing the pain. “Maybe you can apply some more, please?”

She nodded, slowly removing her hand from his to reach for the bowl with the resin mixture. After setting the bowl down next to him, her fingers moved to apply some to the gashes, trying to be as gentle as possible even though her hand was still shaking. Bucky wanted to kick himself for making this self assured witch nervous.

“Let me,” he whispered, “that way you get the spots that actually hurt.” His hand covered hers, guiding them to the areas that were burning. He noticed her cheeks flared, making him wonder if she wasn’t use to being touched or being scared.

“Both,” she replied as if she read his mind. Did she? “Yes,” she added, taking her hand back to wipe it on the cloth before continuing her stitches. “It’s a reason why I ran away to here. It’s one thing to be a spellmen, but it’s another when you can read thoughts and predict the future when it’s horrible.”

Bucky fell silent, not asking for her to elaborate, but she did. She recounted the events of seeing a dark force coming to the small village that she resided next to, people dying horrifyingly. She tried to warn the villagers but they brushed it off as a bad dream, but when a plague hit and took more than half the children’s lives and tore families apart, they raided her home when she was out, setting it on fire before she returned. Bucky listened quietly, her voice distracting him from the slight pinches of the needle and the tugging of the thread.

“So, I came here. I advertise as a holistic healer, using only human terminology and play dumb when a shifter or another spellmen comes to the door,” she went on. “There. Now, I should let you rest. I’ll make you some tea, and find something to eat for you.”

She stood, but his hand caught hers, her face soft as she looked down at him.

“Thank you,” he replied.

She nodded, taking her hand back slowly, making him notice that this time she seemed reluctant. “You would have died if you weren’t treated. And you said you didn’t trust most.” She placed the items she used into a small basket she kept under the bed and turned towards to the door. “Get some rest, Bucky,” she said over her shoulder, giving him a bashful smile, but it disappeared once there was a knock on the door.

“Wanda Maximoff!” A voice hollered, making her drop the basket. “We have suspicions that you are housing a spindrel.”

“Do riti!” she cursed, looking at him with a nervous look. “I didn’t tell, but the man at the store…dracaena isn’t used often.” She gathered the bin and shoved it into the cabinet and motioned him to follow her. “Basement has a secret door under the stairs. Hide there and I’ll come find you.” She motioned to the door for the basement before moving to strip off her shirt, tossing it on the couch and messed up her hair before grabbing a blanket to hold it to her chest, making Bucky blush before he descended the stairs, hearing her answer the door with a labored breath.

~*~

“Constable!” Wanda panted, her eyes shifting to the tall man in front of her to the shop owner to his side. “Why on earth would you accuse me of such a thing?” Her eyes slightly narrowed at the short man who she knew was responsible.

“Mr. Holly here said you bought dracaena resin,” the constable replied, his face turning red at her state, making her smile inwardly. Respectable men can get derailed easily.

“Sir, any well read herbalist will know that dracaena resin can be used for relationship help,” she answered, her hand running through her hair, letting the blanket slip slowly.

“Yooz neva sed tis waz,” Mr. Holly accused, making her roll her eyes.

“Like I would tell a stranger that I need help in the bedroom area of my life,” she replied, the words making her blush. “Constable, I never met a spindrel in my life. Besides, they’re dangerous. I would have called you if one should have shown up at my door. I’m a holistic healer, not some spellmen who will take in a shifter without knowing full well who they are.”

“Yer not believin’ tat shite, are ye Consteeble?” Mr. Holly was red, either from embarrassment or anger, but Wanda didn’t care. She wanted these men gone.

“Mr. Holly, you stated she bought dracaena resin for a spindrel, and looking at the state of Ms. Maximoff, I would like to think a woman who is…under dressed…wouldn’t lie,” the constable replied, tipping his hat to her. “I am not going to ask for the man who is in your room to appear, not to further embarrass you, m’lady.”

“Who says there’s a man?” she asked cheekily as the peace officer turned red and bid her a good evening, making Mr. Holly follow him.

She closed the door, through the latches before heading to get Bucky, reminding herself that she needed to find a new herbalist in the morning.

“Okay,” she called at the bottom of the stairs, “they’re gone.” She watched as Bucky emerge from behind the dark door, his eyes shifting away from her, making her realize that she still was half exposed with the blanket only covering her chest.

“I’ll go make that tea for you,” she rushed out, “and you can get back upstairs in bed. Rest is the best thing right now.”

“What about…”

“They won’t come back as long as I don’t buy any more things that are used specifically for your kind. Go.” She hugged the blanket close to her as she pointed up the stairs, giving him a smile. He nodded his understanding, and hurried as best as he could, his eyes avoiding her as much as possible.


End file.
